


Myrrh for Embalming

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Hiatus, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the start of another Christmas season, Watson remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myrrh for Embalming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tweedisgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedisgood/gifts).



> Written as a holiday fic for tweedisgood, who prompted: **Mourning. Doesn't have to be actual death, but could be. Make me cry - and I don't often.**
> 
> Since I don't think I've ever made anyone cry in anything I've written, I did my best - and fell back on the assistance of one of the more poignant Christmas carols, in _italic text_ (which is definitely anachronistic, seeing as it debuted in 1927, but let's just pretend, shall we?).

 

_When He is King, they will give him the King’s gifts_   
_Myrrh for his sweetness and gold for a crown_   
_Beautiful robes, said the young girl to Joseph_   
_Fair with her firstborn on Bethlehem down_

 

He remembered his last Christmas with Holmes. How could he not? A successful case. Clemency and mercy shown to those who deserved it, but also to those who did not, in acknowledgement of the mercy they all received despite their unworthiness. A cold treasure returned, an ample reward claimed and shared with those who deserved it, and best of all, a Christmas dinner shared with laughter, joy, and mutual content. Content in the successful completion of the case, of course, but he’d also seen contentment with the company – with him – warming those normally cool grey eyes and mellowing the habitually harsh lines of Holmes’ face. Watson had felt much the same. Joy in their success, joy in Holmes’ company, joy and satisfaction in the confident expectation of more of the same in the years to come.

Holmes’ success in recovering the stone rang from every headline. Commendations rained in from all quarters, even from the Inspectors at the Yard. Holmes pretended not to be affected, but Watson could see that he was touched by the true praise of those he valued. Watson most of all.

Tidings of comfort and joy, they’d seemed then. Now, all lay in ashes.

_When He is King, they will clothe him in gravesheets_   
_Myrrh for embalming and wood for a crown_   
_He that lies now in the white arms of Mary_   
_Sleeping so lightly on Bethlehem down_

 

Perhaps they’d been too confident in their success. And yes, Watson meant _they;_ Holmes was always confident to the point of arrogance in his abilities, but Watson realized now that he too had grown complacent in those heady days. He was certain that while Holmes’ intellect remained supreme – and he never believed he’d see its equal, Mycroft or no Mycroft – and Watson himself remained vigilant against Holmes’ penchant for risk, all would turn out well. Surely they could not fail, not together. Surely _Holmes_ could not fail. Watson knew himself fallible, but together, they could surmount any challenge.

But fail they did. Fail _Watson_ did, in believing the message, in not being careful enough, in being too proud and too trusting and too blind. Failed in even the most basic way, leaving Holmes alone, unguarded.

Watson failed, and Holmes fell.

Now all that was left was his scribbled pages of their once-glorious adventures. Embalmed memories of a lost past, pressed between covers and fixed there amidst bitter perfume like dead flowers.

 

  
(For those of you unfamiliar with the carol, it's [Bethlehem Down by Peter Warlock](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-z3Tz5AIsa0).)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 20, 2012


End file.
